Thief: The Dark Project
by oij
Summary: A novelization of the game. Told as a modern epic with a sense of humor.


_Dedicated to:_

_ Laura Barefield whose Arthurian Lit. class inspired me to dig this project up again._

_To Elf, a talented writer (who inspired the use of "Lord and Lady!"), and to Yukie, another talented writer, for their support.___

_To those who used to be part of Looking Glass Studios for making so many great games in their time. And to the few who, according to word of mouth, tolerate the South Campus Majors at my university. You know who you are._

_To subtle THIEF fans like myself who remain outside the main gathering places of the fandom but keep touch._

_And, lastly, to the "Master Builder" inside each of us.__ Follow your heart and you can never go wrong._

**AUTHOR'S COMMENTARY**: This is a rewrite of a Thief novelization I wrote several years ago in an old notebook. My writing has since then improved so I have decided to dig it out and polish it.  My apologies for how FF.net reformatted it.

Due to the nature of the story, to accurately explain things it is necessary for me to switch perspectives, sometimes once or twice per chapter. There will be page breakers between perspective switches and scene changes. This is a carry over from the original piece.

I have taken some creative liberties with the story of Thief: The Dark Project to make it come together more on paper. You will meet many original characters and concepts herein. This story is done in the style of a modern epic and ultimately Garrett emerges as a true hero in an archetypal sense.

~~*~~

I invoke the Nine Muses to sing to me and aid me in telling the story of Garrett, the man of twists and turns. . .

_When in the springtime of the year   
When the trees are crowned with leaves   
When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew   
Are dressed in ribbons fair.   
  
When owls call the breathless moon   
in the blue veil of the night   
When shadows of the trees appear   
amidst the lantern light.   
  
We've been rambling all the night   
and sometime of this day   
Now returning back again   
we bring a garland gay.   
  
Who will go down to those shady groves   
and summon the shadows there?  
And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms   
in the springtime of the year?   
  
The sounds of birds seem to fill the wood   
and when the fiddler plays   
All their voices can be heard   
long past their woodland days.   
  
We've been rambling all the night   
and sometime of this day.   
Now returning back again   
we bring a garland gay.   
  
And so they linked their hands and danced   
'round in circles and in rows   
And so the journey of the night descends   
when all the shades are gone.   
  
A garland gay we bring you here   
And at your door we stand   
Here's a sprout, well budded out   
The work of our Lord's hand.   
  
We've been rambling all the night   
and sometime of this day   
Now returning back again   
we bring a garland gay._

~Loreena McKennitt "The Mummer's Dance"

**Part I: Cutty**

_"It is acknowledged that neither convict prisons, nor the hulks, nor any system of hard labour ever cured a criminal."_

~Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Book I: A Keeper's Training

_"For rigorous teachers seized my youth,  
And purged its faith, and trimm'd its fire,  
Show'd me the high, white star of Truth,  
There bade me gaze, and there aspire.  
Even now their whispers pierce the gloom:  
What dost thou in this living tomb?"_

~Matthew Arnold

**Chapter I: On the street**

"Drop the herring, dirtbag!"****

I hooked a warning finger at Jaecob. Jaecob had Emily in a headlock and was holding a fish to her temple. Its scales flashed in the dying light of the sun like a knife blade.****

"You heard me! Drop it!"

Jaecob returned the fish rather reluctantly to the kiosk beside him. The merchant running it had fallen asleep and was dreaming, no doubt, of silks and a life he'd never possess. Jaecob, Emily and myself were but three members of a large group of street urchins in the Ye Bitten Dog sector of the City.

The City is located in the center of Caal-Mordaine, in the portion called the Olav River Valley. Once upon a time it was known as Caal-Lamaria, the Land of the Builder, but most of the Builder's culture has since died out and few now believe in the Old Gods. Originally, the city was the home of Penal Colony K182 which made a living trading via the many rivers that crossed at the heart of their territory: The Fork, the Burrick-Bend, the Yuura, the Olav, and the Soryn. Some legends spoke of an ancient people who once lived where our dusty feet now tread: The people of the Lost City, a phenomenal race that experienced a brilliant, proud existence before mysteriously sinking into the earth.

I ran my fingers through my hair. "Soo. . .now what?"

"Oooh, I know! Let's pick some pockets!" Jaecob said this as though it was a most exciting activity but his eyes glinted in sarcasm.

"Seriously," said Emily with a weary sigh as she glanced about the street. "What do you want us to do, Garrett? Go to the opera? Our choices are kind of limited here."

I shook my head. Everyday was the same damned thing: laugh as Mrs. Bourdon runs by chasing someone to get her gold watch back, hide from Blue Coats, bow to the Baron's horsemen. . .

A small boy leapt down from the top of an abandoned kiosk at the corner of St. Carole Street and raced by us, his feet patting heavily across the cobblestones.

"Ayeayeayeayeayeayeayeaye!!! Trouble's a-comin' 'round the corner!"

All of the urchins lounging about the street bolted in separate directions into the dark alleyways as if the fantastical Trickster himself had risen suddenly before them, Emily including. I bounded up on top of the old kiosk and Jaecob dove gracelessly into a trashcan sitting outside a barbershop.

I managed a scowl as two men rounded the corner. They wore red and white tunics decorated with inverted hammers. Hammerites.

The younger of the two looked at me.

"I dare say, young 'un, what was that din just then, wot?

I shrugged my bony shoulders. "Don't rightfully know, sir."  
"Ah. . .I see. Very well then, sorry to bother thee."

The two men continued their stroll. Not the brightest torches on the wall, Hammerites. . .

After a few minutes passed I hopped down. Jaecob and Emily were standing by the fish kiosk. We exchanged glances and nodded. It was time to pick a few pockets and make a living. That was how we lived; emptying small purses and lightening large ones. We lowered our gazes and shuffled about the street, looking like we were watching for a stray coin or piece of food.

A cute couple, lower middle-class, walked past us holding each other's hands. Emily wiped her mouth on her sleeve and followed after them with a mischievous glint in her dark eyes. I shook my head. "Jaecob. . .life is becoming monotonous. Picking pockets and running messages? If I have to stoop to illegal means to get cash then I would at least stoop in style. . . Be a master thief. . ."

"Riiight," Jaecob bugled and nudged my ribs. "And one day I'll be a Hammerite!"

I frowned. "My mother always told me I could be whatever I wanted when I grow up!"

"That reminds me. Can I be the Neo Emperor of the Lost City? Please?"

"There IS no Lost City anymore. That's why it's lost. . .And I don't carry coals!"

I pounced on him. Jaecob seized my shoulders and swung me into the wall of the sketchy-looking old building behind the fish kiosk. It was called The Flying Sow Tavern. Someone inside made a sound of disapproval then resumed drinking or doing whatever it was he had been doing.

"Pinned ya!"

I grinned. "Yeah. . .you did. You are rather good at that." I lifted my gaze towards the street. There was a rotund man in a dark cloak there, watching the cute couple and their yet unnoticed stalker. People walked past him as if he were a spirit.

"I'll bet HE has something of value. . ."

Jaecob released me and pivoted where he stood to see what I was looking at.  
"Hmm? Who? The bread merchant?"

"No, no, no. . .Next to him."

"Mrs. Bourdon?" he arched a brow. "I'm sure someone has already grabbed her watch today."

I scowled. "No! The dude trying not be noticed. . .there in the black."

Jaecob stared at me over his shoulder, his grey eyes filled with doubt. 

"Garrett. . .There's nobody there. . ."

"How can you not see him!? He's-"

"Get your eyes checked, man."

"Get YOUR eyes checked!"

I shouldered my way past a few individuals and stormed across the street to the rotund man. He had a red beard and laughing green eyes. I made a grab for his purse. Then, a powerful hand seized my own. A gold band embraced one of his finders, baring a keyhole insignia that I did not recognize.

"Nothing but trouble there, lad."

I flew into a mindless panic. "Oh please, I'm weak and I'm starving and I haven't had a bite to eat in weeks and-OH FOR THE LOVE OF THE LORD AND LADY, PLEASE DON'T TELL THE HAMMERS!"

The cloaked man placed a hand over my mouth. "Hush. You have a gift, child, a talent. You must if you can see a Keeper. Especially one who does not wish to be seen. What is your name?"

"Garrett."

He released hold of my hand. I watched the white finger marks on my wrist start to fade. "Garrett, come with me."

"No! Leave me alone!"

"Very well. But if you wish to lead a different life then follow me."

He turned away. I looked back down the street and saw Emily walk up to Jaecob. The two spoke some words to one another, evidently in disagreement. Then Emily's face turned red and she immediately started to clobber the brown-haired boy. Then and there I made up my mind.

"Wait! Keeper Person! I'm coming with you!"

I managed to catch up with the man right before he vanished into the crowd.

**Chapter II: The Keeper's Compound**

He laughed heartily. "I knew that you'd have a change of heart. My name is Mayar, I am the Third Keeper. My duty is to recruit Those Chosen"

I nodded dumbly. He put a hand on my shoulder. "Garrett, have you ever read the Book of the Stone?"

"I can't read."

"Heh. Then I shall teach you."

He reached into his deep pocket and withdrew a strip of black fabric which he passed to me. 

"Put this on."

"Eh?"

Mayar's eyes took on a serious light. "None but Keepers may know the Temple's location. . ."

I groaned and tied the blindfold around my face. He took my hand and led me onwards. I do not know for how long we walked but eventually the familiar smells and sounds of City life died away and only an accursed silence remained. Not even the sound of my guide's footfalls reached my ears.

By the time we had reached our destination my feet wanted to fall away from my ankles and die a slow, horrible death. Mayar shifted beside me and removed the blindfold from my eyes. . .and I stood, baffled at the architectural wonder before me: A series of towers and low buildings joined by stone halls. The sweeping, gothic pinnacles of those towers were crafted in such a way that the entire structure was bathed in its own shadow.. The door was modest and crafted from imported oak. Painted on the front was a golden keyhole. Mayar opened the door and ushered me inside. 

The foyer was a circular room that rose up for three floors. I saw that the walls of the upper floors were lined in countless shelves filled with books. A cloaked man was walking by on the second tier, reading one such book called Through the Looking Glass. He paused and glanced at me with contempt then went back to his reading. Mayar waddled across the room and opened the opposite door. 

"We will teach you to put your unique skills to good use, young Garrett."

Beyond the door was a corridor floored with yellow carpet. The windows were shaped like stars and embroidered tapestries resembling the night sky hung outside each one, blocking the view of the surrounding landscape. I wondered why they bothered to have windows at all. . .

"We Keepers are the descendants of the ancient Guild of Enlightenment. We have existed since before even the Hammerites and claim our roots in Karath-din. You may know of it in legends as the Lost City."

I had not known that Karath-din was an actual place. I blinked and followed Mayar down the hall.

"We maintain the balance between Order and Chaos in the universe." He looked at me. "You will learn how to remain one step ahead of the Hammerites. If we Keepers are discovered then all is lost. You will learn to move silently, move your body like a cat's, how to hide in the shadows and use items of stealth. You will learn to carry the air of beauty and mystery about you and you'll learn how to find a good sushi bar every now and then."

He paused before another keyhole-marked door. "Garrett. . .there are a few rules to Keeperdom: Never resort to violence, never give away your identity, never reveal the Order and, most importantly, never, EVER, eat raspberries!"

"Sir?" I asked.

Mayar looked sternly at me. "I cannot explain, just trust me on this one, okay?" I nodded and he pushed open the door. Beyond it was a classroom of sorts. I had seen similar rooms at the schoolhouses that noble children went to. There were two long tables and a cloaked man at a slate board. At the first table sat a brace of youths, roughly my age. One was a boy and one was a girl. The boy had brown hair and brown eyes. He was dexterously using one finger to mine for some unknown thing in his nose. He frowned with disappointment when he removed his finger to see that he had missed said thing. He resumed mining for it.

The girl had bright blue eyes and blonde hair. She was gazing blankly into empty space.

"Kendaric," said the Third Keeper, "This is Garrett. He's a new vic-er. . .acolyte."

The cloaked teacher motioned for me to sit down. I sat between the other two students and drummed my fingers on the polished stone table.

"Greetings, Garrett, I am Loremaster Kendaric. This is Gwyneth and Michael. Say hello, kids."

They looked at me and half-grunted, half-groaned a reply. "H'lo, Gary." 

"Michael," barked the Loremaster, "For pity's sake get your finger out of there."

Michael complied and Kendaric stormed up to Mayar and hissed in a low voice, his silver hair falling in front of his eyes. "Sir Mayar. . .I cannot teach these kids. They do not meet my standards and. . .this bothers me because I do not HAVE any standards. . ."

Mayar clapped him on the back and chortled. "You'll think of something, good bye." He turned and left the room in a hurry.

Kendaric sighed and returned to the slate board. 

"Right. . .So, what were we talking about?"

"The prophecy," said Gwyneth. "The one about the One Armed Man and the trees. . ."

Kendaric nodded. "Oh yeah. . .See when the Trickster. . . Michael. . .stop rolling your inkpen it's very annoying."

"Sorry."

The Loremaster sighed and closed his dark eyes. "But when he does he's gonna need the-Gwyneth! Garrett! Stop flirting! Lord and Lady, you kids will be the death of me. . .

Anyway he will be killed by the One Eyed Man."

"Fascinating," Michael drawled. "A One Eyed Man will save the City from certain destruction."

I huffed. "What a load of-"

"-And when will this happen?"

"Just before the dawning of the Metal Age," Kendaric shook his thin hands in exasperation.

"When is that?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"Weeellll," I hesitated. "What makes anyone think it will ever even happen?"

Kendaric looked steadily at me.

"When an apple is ripe it is ready.

When a pear is ripe it will fall.

We know what must happen shall happen,

Or nothing will happen at all."

~~*~~

Each of the rooms in the dormitory had four beds in them. Nevertheless, we all gathered in my room. Not that there was anything extraordinary about it. . .It had a keyhole-shaped window with a thin tapestry on the outside, blocking out the view of the outside world. The carpet was a faded yellow and a small book case lay against the wall near the door. The beds were little more than mattresses on the floor. In short, it was exactly like every other dorm room. Of course Gwyn had decorated hers with some of her drawings. Michael lay on the bed farthest from me, staring up at the ceiling and meditating on the cracks there. Gwyn was strolling about the room, grinning like a feline. I sat lotus-style on the bed nearest to the door, watching her.

"Well. . .That was interesting," I said.

Michael frowned. "Yeah in a boring sort of way. . .'

"It was weird."

"Weird? Ha!" Gwyn barked in laughter. "You don't know weird, Gary. Just wait until tomorrow. Keeper Catheryn's class is-"

Michael groaned, "Oh, Belching Burricks. . .Catheryn. . ."

"What?" I asked. "What does she teach?"

Gwyn's blue eyes sparkled in mirth. Her and the other acolyte were silent.

". . ."

". . ."

"Yeeeeees?" I pressed.

"That's what she teaches," said Gwyneth. "Silence."

"So. . .You don't answer me. That's cute, Gwyn, really, I'm glad you got that out of your system."

**Chapter III: Broken Silence and Deep Shadows**

The next morning found Michael, Gwyneth and I standing in a bizarre training hall. It was all about the floor. Stone ran up the sides of the hall, metal plating stretched into the middle of the hall and carpet ran around it; that same ugly yellow carpeting that I had seen throughout the compound.

The three of us were standing on a raised platform. Another such platform lay at the other end of the hall. We were swimming in our new black, cotton habits. I had lost my own arms in mine. They were somewhere though, I was certain. As I wriggled around in a vain attempt to locate my limbs, I ran a question by Gwyneth. "Does Loremaster Kendaric really take this prophecy crap seriously?"

"Very. . .Very seriously."

Michael did his own dance and waved around his arms, his ankle-length sleeves flapping about him comically.

"Garrett! I'm waving my pseudopods but I'm not getting anywhere!"

"When do we enter the hall?" I asked. Gwyn hushed me. "Mayar likes us to wait on the platform for the instructor to explain-"

"SHUT UP!"

It was quite possibly the loudest voice I had ever heard. . . And I grew up on the streets. A woman with dirty blonde hair had climbed onto the far platform. She glowered at us from under her hood and folded her hands into her habit.

"HELLO! I AM KEEPER CATHERYN! TODAY WE WILL LEARN HOW TO SILENTLY TRAVERSE A ROOM. REMEMBER WHAT I TAUGHT YOU AND YOU CAN NEVER GO WRONG! I WILL HAVE MY BACK TURNED. GO!"

We stepped off the platform, shrugged, and started moving. I turned to Gwyn and said in a low whisper, "Ya know. . .In some places people learn math."

She grinned and whispered back, "We learn that and reading. This is just the stealth and information gathering stuff-"

Clank!

Michael, who had not been looking where he was going, had stepped off the carpet and onto the metal. He grimaced and looked into the shiny surface of this segment of floor as though it had crawled beneath his feet on purpose.

"I. Hate. You." He waved a sleeve at his reflection but was actually speaking to the unresponsive expanse of steel. "This isn't over!"

"I HEARD THAT!"

Catheryn spun around and faced us with a sneer. "GWYNNIE!? ARE YOU WEARING HIGH HEELS!? TAKE THEM OFF!"

Gwyneth stuck her foot out. "I'm wearing slippers, ma'am."

Michael's head rolled on his shoulders as we shuffled back to the starting point. "She thought I was Gwyn. . ."

We took in a group breath, turned, and started once again across the hall. We casually strolled across the carpet, our feet soundless on its soft surface. Gwyneth and Michael exchanged glances and she hip-checked him into the wall.

*Thud*

"Uff…" Michael slid down to the stone flooring and levered himself upright. Catheryn just lifted a hand without turning.

"TRY AGAIN!"

Back to the start point we went. I hissed at my unruly classmates. "Could you stop? Really, I mean. Because this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever had to do."

Back across the room we went. And this time we made it, due partially to my warning death glares.

Catheryn shook each of our hands. Correction; she shook Gwyn's hand but Michael and I were still lost in our habits somewhere and had not quite found our arms yet.

She just shrugged. "LOOKS LIKE WE NEED TO GET YOU SMALLER ROBES. ANYWAY, CONGRATULATIONS! I DID NOT HEAR YOU APPROACH. YOU HAVE PASSED. GO TO ARTEMIS'S CLASS. IT IS JUST DOWN THE HALL!"

She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb at the door we had entered from. We lifted our habits and ran across the training hall again, making some bizarre point of being as noisy as humanly possible while doing so.

Keeper Artemis's training hall was dark. Very dark. The high stained glass windows allowed some sunlight to shine through, mottling the floor with shadowy areas and bright areas. The floor itself was stone and our feet echoed ominously off its surface as we walked up to the starting platform and waited.

"I hope this lesson is less freakish than the one we just had," I snorted.

An older man with short gray hair and a kind smile climbed up onto the opposite platform.

"Greetings and welcome to my class, young Garrett. In case Micheal and Gwyneth have not yet told you, here we learn to move without being seen. To do this, you have to WANT to be unseen. If you want this enough, you will become invisible."

I tried to look like I cared. Artemis gazed over his shoulder at the wall, as if checking to see if the next part of his speech was written there. "Uhmm. . .And remember that shadows are your allies. There is always a. . ." he crinkled his nose. "What is that?"

"What is what?" asked Gwyneth.

"That smell? Nyaargh! Oh, this is simply horrid. Somebody's FARTED! Quickly, young Garrett, open the door. Gwyneth, Michael, fan out the room!"

I reached behind me and opened the door.

"I was better off on the streets."

Michael and Gwyneth waved their habit sleeves and tried to fan the place out. This demented display continued for several long moments before the two stopped, realizing that they had no idea why they were asked to do that. 

". . .?. . ."

Artemis emerged from the shadows as though he were created from them. And he emerged right beside us. I was unable to suppress a cry.

"Keeper Artemis," Michael said, "We didn't see you come. . .when did you get here?"  
            ". . .Ah. . ."

He pointed a bony finger back down the hall at his platform.

"I'll be standing over there. Try to reach my platform without being seen."

With that, he loped off.

"This is where it begins. . ."

As it turned out, Artemis was more practical than Catheryn had been and only had those who made errors start over, rather than the whole group. The three of us hobbled off into the darkness at the same time. I had little difficulty swerving around the patches of sunlight and strolled up the stairs beside the instructor. Artemis glanced at me sidelong. 

"Very good. I did not see you approach."

He turned back to the hall. Gwyneth stepped up the opposite side of the platform and called into the shadows. "Michael! Heeeeaaad toooowaaaaards the liiight! You'll find salvation in the light!"

He stumbled into a pool of light almost as if on command.

"I can see you there lad," said Artemis. "Try again."

Michael canted his head. "If I weren't wearing this stupid habit right now I'd be mooning you, mister. . ."

~*~

The next class we had was weapons training. That was at noon. With a few hours to kill, Gwyneth, Michael and I hunkered down in the Library. They read. I pretended to read. I still did not know how to decipher runes or simple alphabet but Loremaster Kendaric promised that he and First Keeper Kieran, Keeper of the Keys, would teach me. In time they would finally succeed.

The Library was the biggest chamber in the compound. It was huge, with three floors, the second and third "floor" actually being galleries linked by small stairwells. Every wall was lined with books as thick as my arm and an endless amount of information on any imaginable topic lay within those books.

Gwyneth held up her book, this one as thick as my head, to a passing man in black. Granted, all of the Keepers wore black but Azrael dressed. . .oddly. He carried a glaive at his hip and his face was usually hidden beneath an ivory mask with no nose or mouth. He had the honor of being the first Keeper Assassin as well as the only focused Psionicist in the compound. He was training several acolytes to work as Assassins but he found that human minds were difficult to deal with and usually lacked focus. With Psionic training all his students could do was randomly project thoughts on who was cute, what was cool, and how lunch that day was particularly awful. So the Assassin and his trainees often got piercing headaches from shouts, complaints and ramblings nobody else could hear.

"Azzy?" asked the blonde girl. "What in the Lord's name does this say?"

Azrael paused and lifted his mask as he stooped over the book. He was a handsome man with a dark, closely cut beard.

"It says 'Bids he then the spruces to sing a hymn and anthems and the Woodsie Lord binders them fleshes to stone.'" Gwyneth's face fell and she closed the book. "That's a relief. I was worried it made sense."

Azrael shrugged. "Couldn't explain. Where's the Loremaster?

"Probably somewhere in here. Or with Second Keeper Orland talking to the Oracle in the chapel." She pointed in a random direction. "Why?"

"This glaive. It glows when it hits the target."

Michael, who had been falling asleep over an old parchment of some sort, snapped awake at this. "Really? COOL!"

"Perhaps," Azrael huffed, "but not very stealthy. People can SEE the glow. Why make it light up at all?"

"Because it's funny," said Gwyneth. "Things don't have to make sense if they're funny."

Azrael gave up any attempt to continue this conversation and strolled away. As he did, Loremaster Kendaric raced across the gallery of the second floor and leaned over the balustrade to shout after him.

"AZRAEL! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY LESSON PLANS!?"

Azrael waved a dismissive hand and shuffled out into the hall. No sooner had he left than a young girl came scurrying over to us. Fay'Lynne, while younger by several years, had been with the Order longer than any of us three. She had, in fact, been raised since infancy by Keepers. Because of this she served as the Interpreter; a position reserved for young children raised by the Order. They only remained Interpreter until they were old enough to move on to the official training. Apparently their duty was to translate the Oracle's musings into Common.

"Guys! Guys! Guys!" she eehee-ed. "Maaayaar wants to seee yooouuu!" She smiled hugely. "In the Sparring Yard."

The Sparring Yard was really just a small courtyard with an archery lane and a sword dummy. A cobblestone sparring circle was set up in the center of the courtyard for practice against live opponents.

A locked, barred door beyond the sparring circle was occupying our attention for the moment. We hung upon it dismally, looking with bored eyes into the hallway beyond that took an abrupt turn to Gods only knew where.

"I heard there was a basketball court in there," said Gwyneth

I blinked. "A wha-?"

"I hear there's a Woodsie in there," said Michael blankly.

"Extinct."

"I hear that what's in there is not the business of young acolytes," said a voice from behind us. Slowly we scooted around and saw Third Keeper Mayar standing on the small wooden veranda that stretched along the wall of the courtyard. Set up on the veranda was a selection of weapons: shortbow, sword, blackjack, and daggers of various sorts. A longbow leaned against the wall behind him.

The rotund man waddled down the stairs over to the wooden sparring dummy. He hit its shoulder with his fist.

"Michael, you'll be sparring, Garrett, you'll be on archery. Gwyneth can rest for now."

"Awesome," said Gwyneth. "If anyone needs me I'll be doing what Keepers do best."

"Nothing?" I asked.

"Pondering over the cosmic purpose of Being."

She sat in the corner near the door that led into a dormitory and started to zone out.

Michael scurried towards Mayar, tripped over his habit, and landed with a thud at the old man's feet.

I sauntered up to the veranda  and examined the short bow. After determining that it was, indeed, beneath me I cast it aside and hefted the longbow. It was an inch taller than I was. The bow string was not attached so I made a dramatic attempt to string the weapon. Mayar approached me, leaving Micheal with his sword, and watched as I futilely wrestled with the bow. After a great struggle, I succeeded.

"Impressive," said Mayar. "But we use the short bow. More stealthy and less cumbersome."

"Ohoho no!" I shook the longbow. "I strung this thing so I'm GOING to taffing use it!"

"Whatever you say, Young Garrett."

I dragged myself over to the low wooden barricade of the archery lane and looked beyond it at the targets. Archery. Lovely. Why did I need to know this?

I drew an arrow from the quiver nailed to the barricade and nocked it. With a sigh, I pulled the string back to my breast. It felt wrong. I shifted my feet and pulled the string to my ear. Better.

After a moment of meditation I let the arrow fly. It struck the dead center of the middle target. I blinked. Mayar's eyes widened. Gwyneth snored. Michael's sword dummy beat him in a sparring match despite being immobile and unarmed.

"I've never. . .," the Third Keeper started. Then "Beginner's luck. Try again."

I did and again I hit the target dead center, cleaving my last arrow in twain. Mayar was, as writers often say but people rarely are, open-mouthed.

"Unbelievable! Incredible! You're a natural, lad. A crackshot. Master of the Longbow. You are Garrett of the Longbow."

I grinned.

"Sir, I can't do this anymore." The two of us turned to see Second Keeper Orland standing in the sparring circle, dressed in the regalia of a Shalebridge policeman. The shield around his arm was decorated with the colors of the Force, blue and red, though the boss was marked with a golden keyhole. Michael stood beside him in blatant confusion.

"What's the matter Orland?"

"WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO BE THE GUARD!!?"

"Because you're great with a sword."

Orland pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. "I'm second in command to the Keeper of the Keys," he preened. "I don't have to take this."

Mayar waved a finger. "The Keeper of the Keys said you were to help me train the acolytes for an hour each day. And I choose to have you help with the sparring."

Orland grimaced. "I should punch you," he deadpanned.

Chapter IV: And Last. . .

            The Obstacle Course was. . .wacky. A rope attached to a board provided access up to a sort of stone catwalk that was full of gaps and high ledges. The catwalk snaked its way through the course, stretching over a small stream and beneath a bridge that connected two small storage towers. I climbed up first and walked along the catwalk to the first gap. The stream laughed beneath me. Actually, I felt more like it was laughing _at _me.

 This was when I discovered that Michael was afraid of heights. He scrambled in front of Gwyneth and grasped the rope. He was no more than half way up when he froze, hypnotized with fear.

"HELP! I CAN'T HANDLE HEIGHTS!"

I had been about to jump the gap when he cried out. Surprised, I staggered and fell forward. To my despair, the gap was shorter than the length of my body and when I grabbed the other side, my feet were still braced against the side on which I had started. So there I was, stretched across the gap, staring down into the murky green water. My reflection stared back.

"Just jump to the walk," I heard Mayar yell. 

"Oh. . .Okay!"

Michael jumped from the rope, scurried across my spine and made it to the other side. By the time he bounced off my skull, my body had given up on me, unable to support the added weight, and I fell.

_Kersplash_!

I kicked around idiotically for a while before I broke the surface and looked up at the catwalk. Michael had gotten stuck at a ledge. He grasped the top and was kicking his legs, unable to mantle it completely.

Gwyneth had tripped over her own feet upon leaping off the rope and was now stretched across the gap the same way I had been.

Mayar, standing beneath the rope had his eyes closed in silent meditation. "I knew it. You all bite."

I clambered out of the stream, my hair and habit completely soaked. Gwyneth somehow got herself across the gap. Michael disappeared over the ledge and continued across the catwalk.

By the time I had climbed the rope, he ran around a short wall, leapt over the stream and hopped up and down excitedly. "I DID IT! I DID IT! I COMPLETED THE OBSTACLE COURSE!"

Somewhere Gwyneth fell off the catwalk and into some bushes.

...~…

_            Time. . ._

_                        . . .passed_

It had been a few years ago that I had entered the Order of the Key as an acolyte, the most promising one Mayar had seen in many an age. 

I stood now in the Hall of Initiation. It was a big hall with high, stained glass windows depicting plant-like creatures, keyholes, gears and hammers. The high ceiling was supported by graceful white pillars. Kieran, the First Keeper, Keeper of the Keys, stood at the end of the Hall behind a pedestal on which he had placed a scale and some stones. On one side of him was Loremaster Kendaric and Third Keeper Mayar. On the other side stood Second Keeper Orland and Keeper Fay'Lynne who had been initiated the year before. She was all smiles as usual and her auburn hair had become wild and unkempt.

I approached the pedestal with Michael and Gwyneth.

"Come forward, Michael," said Kieran, his intense eyes focused fixedly on the boy.

Michael stepped forward and hesitantly picked two stones. He placed one on each side of the balance. The First Keeper placed a keyhole pendant around his neck.

"I now pronounce you Keeper Michael."

Michael bowed and walked out of the hall via a side door. Gwyneth approached the altar and picked two stones. 

I sighed and looked up at the windows. I reflected on my life. I had been a pick-pocket but I had been free. Keepers were withdrawn and did not believe in being passionate about anything. They observed life from without, like impassive gods. Becoming one would kill me. I had little doubt. How dare these people take me in and try to make my spirit a prisoner!? 

Gwyneth exited the Hall. 

I approached the altar and reached for the stones. 

And paused. 

Acting on instinct, I turned and dashed for the stained glass windows.

"Garrett! What are you doing!?" Mayar cried, shifting beside Kendaric. "If you leave you can never come back. DO YOU HEAR ME!? YOU CAN NEVER COME BACK!"

I lifted my arms over my face and hurled myself forward, through the window with a rendering crash. Glass exploded around me and I landed in a tumble outside the compound. As I heard yelling rise up behind me, I ran blindly for the open air.

…~…

Kieran stood amidst the broken glass and gazed at the hole in the window where Garrett, the most promising acolyte of the Keepers, had made his escape. "I should have foreseen this. . ."

He turned and saw Gwyneth and Michael standing next to the altar. They had wandered back in when they heard the noise.

"?"

"Garrett has left us," Mayar explained. "Not out of the lesser folly of sentiment, but out of the greater folly of anger. His heart is clouded and his balance is lost but his abilities are unmatched." He sighed. "Remember, the secret to balance is detachment. To become feeling or emotional is to lose that balance. After which no action can be trusted." He shook his head. "We must keep a watchful eye on young Garrett." . . .


End file.
